Tis The Season
by warrior of the nile
Summary: Baz glares at the decorations as if he can cow them into submission and make them hang straight. This has to be perfect. Everything has to be perfect. This is his and Simon's first Christmas together after the disaster that was last year. Simon deserves it. Simon deserves everything. And speaking of Simon...


For the (late, this was suppose to be an _actual_ Christmas fic) prompt from otpprompt on tumblr:  
Person A is struggling to decorate their house for the holidays, and after a while of fumbling with the decorations they turn around to check on how person B is doing. Person B is wearing a wreath around their neck, is draped in lights, and they've hung various ornaments all over themselves. Person A isn't sure what to make of this, but Person B looks /deeply/ pleased with themselves for pulling it off.  
Bonus: Person B is actually stuck and didn't want to bother a frustrated Person A.

* * *

 **Baz**

I adjust the current strand of fairy lights I am stringing around the room and step back, contemplating. The lights are strung haphazardly around the various nick knacks and trinkets on the shelves. And around the books. And on the walls. And the ceiling. The lights are joined by tinsel and fake clumps of holly.

Despite my best effort, nothing is straight. Not even after I respelled them to the walls three different times. It looks ready to collapse the moment Penny or I pull out a book. Mainly because there are books _everywhere_. Bunce doesn't play around with her literature. There are books on the shelves, books on the table, books piled on the floor.

At the moment, most of those books have lights and tinsel strung around them like demented Christmas trees. Which is just as well because the tree stuffed in the corner is already looking a bit limp. It might not make it to Christmas, even if it is only a week a way.

One of the strands of tinsel falls onto my head and I growl. It looked so simple on pinterest.

I've never had to decorate before. At home, after Mum died, after I was turned, Father wasn't much into celebrating Christmas. Frankly, he wasn't into celebrating _any_ holiday. Fiona ended up taking over and her idea of Christmas is anything but traditional. When Father married my stepmother, Daphne, she was the one who decorated. With spells.

Of course I know what spells she used. I could use them. The flat would look perfect and pristine. Just like holiday decorations should. But I can't. Because of Simon. Because I want to give him a real Christmas with real traditions. And that means decorating by hand. No magic.

Add to that our anniversary is Christmas Eve and it puts even more pressure on me. Simon insists he doesn't mind. He doesn't need anything big or flashy or perfect. He just wants me here. And I believe him, the romantic disaster.

But this is our first year away from Watford. The first since the Mage died. The first after Simon lost his magic. The first since everything came to an end. He's slowly getting better. At least he's talking again. As well as Simon _can_ talk – still stuttering and sputtering and shrugging.

But he's still depressed. He still has nightmares. We both do. He has mentioned talking to a therapist a few times now, but I refuse. Simon is the one with the trauma. He is the one who has been through too much. The worst I have is the fucking numpties. And if I still can't handle small places or the dark? So what? And if I wake up in the middle of the night and check to see if Simon is still there? Still in my arms. Fight me.

Simon is the one who gave up his magic for the World of Mages. He is the one who made the sacrifice. Not me. He is the one who deserves a perfect Christmas. And I am going to give it to him, even if it kills me. More than I already am, that is.

I have been planning those two days for weeks now. Penny has been rolling her eyes, calling me obsessed. She says I am worrying for nothing. That this is Simon and when has Simon been anything but an enthusiastic mess. Very lovingly, naturally, but still.

Simon is like an over excited puppy who hasn't quite gotten the hang of walking yet. He blunders around, all limbs and tongue and bark.

But that is the point. That is exactly the point right there. Simon has never had anything perfect. And he deserves it. He deserves that and so much more. Everything. Simon Snow deserves everything and hasn't gotten anything yet. Well, I am going to change that.

This Christmas is going to be perfect, shitty decorating and all.

But thinking of Simon, he has been awfully quiet while doing his share of the decorating. And a quiet Simon is never a good sign. Crowley only knows what that boy can get up to. He is a mess. A walking disaster.

I turn and search for him. When I find him, I can't help the burst of laughter. "You're suppose to decorate the _flat_ Snow, not yourself."

Simon grins, looking oh so smug and proud of himself. He looks ridiculous. There is a wreath hanging from his neck. Fairy lights are wrapped around him, from head to toe. And blinking. He got them to blink. Various baubles are hanging from the lights, the wreath and his clothing. I walk closer.

No, not just his clothing, there is one attached to his ear as well. I snort. "Very festive. We should put you in the corner instead of the tree."

"Aren't I brilliant?" he asks happily.

Oh the sense of humor this boy has. I am close enough to touch now. I do. I push his golden curls out of his face. His eyes shine as he smiles. Oh his bright blue eyes. I could get lost in them. "How can you be anything but. All you need is the star."

"Right," he nods, still grinning brightly, "so, um, Baz..."

 **Simon**

I watch as Baz carefully places the strand of lights back on our bookshelf, only to have it sag. Again. He growls under his breath and goes to redo them. Again.

I want to tell him not to bother. That it's fine. It gives it character. He has been trying so hard these past few weeks to make everything perfect. From the tree to the decorating to the cookies we baked to the movies we have been watching. He wants to do everything right.

He claims I deserve it. I deserve to have a perfect Christmas. The way he looks at me sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, it's frightening. Awe inspiring. It's as if I'm his whole world. That would put pressure on me, if he didn't tell me, almost daily, what a beautiful disaster I am. He can't mind my mess that much if he tells me that.

He still likes to say we match. And if that means being his beautiful disaster, then I don't mind. It's not like I could change that anyways. Even if, sometimes, I wish I could. He deserves it too.

But I wish he would calm down. I don't need a perfect Christmas. Or a perfect anniversary. I don't know what he's planning, but I hope it's simple. I'm still so tired, even after all this time. My therapist tells me that's my depression and that I should continue to take it one step at a time. Things will get better.

So I'd rather have a quiet Christmas season than a perfect one. All of Baz's nerves are making me twitch. But I don't say anything. Because I'm not the only one who needs a perfect Christmas. He has told me about his previous Christmases. About how his Father didn't care. About the crazy ideas his Aunt Fiona came up with. That it wasn't until Daphne that they had a proper Christmas again.

He insists on having a traditional celebration, but none of the things he is doing are any of the things he has ever done. They are what you are suppose to do. They aren't really traditions, but expectations. I figure he is doing all the things he wanted to do, but never got a chance.

So I plan on going along with it, if it makes his Christmas better. If it makes him happy.

Now if only I can get these lights on the wreath. Maybe I should have done that before I put it on the wall... But it can't be that hard to put lights on, even if it is hanging up. Easy. I've fought dragons before, I can put up fairy lights.

I reach up to place the strand at the bottom and work my way up. Everything is going fine when I have to reach up on my toes and accidentally step on a bauble. I fall down with a crash, wreath, lights and all. I look over at Baz, but he is too focused on his decorating. He didn't hear me, thank Merlin. Now to get untangled before he sees.

But that's easier said than done. I manage to stand up, but that's the end of my progress. The lights are hopelessly knotted around my body and the wreath is hanging by them. So I do the logical thing instead. I put the wreath around my neck and find the switch to make the lights blink. Next I hang various baubles everywhere I can reach. And some I can't because they were already there when I fell.

There. I feel oddly accomplished. I didn't decorate what I was suppose to, but I did do something. I'm not a complete failure after all. Just a mess. Now if only I could get out of these lights. Ummm. I wonder... maybe if I...

But it's at that moment that Baz turns around and starts laughing at me. I grin back, happy to see him smile. Baz is so pretty when he's happy. I wish he was happy all the time. If he wasn't so against therapy... I know his nightmares are as bad as mine.

"You're suppose to decorate the _flat_ Snow, not yourself," he informs me, amused. He comes closer, eyes laughing. His eyes are grey, dark grey normally, but now they sparkle. "Very festive. We should put you in the corner instead of the tree."

I shrug. "Aren't I brilliant?" I joke, knowing how bad it is.

"How can you be anything but. All you need is the star." He pushes the hair away from my eyes and smiles at me tenderly.

"Right," I nod. Crowley his smile. Now to get out of these lights. I give them a useless tug."So, um, Baz, a little help here?"

He laughs.


End file.
